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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571579">The World Towers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eneid_Elisor/pseuds/Eneid_Elisor'>Eneid_Elisor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Anti-Hero, Bisexual Male Character, Classes, Dungeon, Elves, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, LitRPG, M/M, Magic, Male Protagonist, Role-Playing Game, Swords &amp; Sorcery, Video Game Mechanics, Violence, skills</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:47:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eneid_Elisor/pseuds/Eneid_Elisor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The world used to be normal. The poor worked, tired, and slept. The rich laughed, drank, and slept. Whether you were a farmer, a warrior, or a mage, you knew your place in the world. You knew how to survive day by day as nations waged war and droughts destroyed crops. You kept your head down and prayed. Or you stood up and had your head cut down.<br/>Until one day, God spoke.<br/>[Your world will be tested.]<br/>Towers rose from the depths of the earth, tall enough to pierce the skies.<br/>100 floors. A single trial.<br/>Power, fame, glory. All at your fingertips.<br/>Monsters raged against villages. Storms descended upon cities.<br/>The world changed. Life for many worsened.<br/>But you had a chance. 100 floors. A single trial.<br/>A chance to change everything.</p><p>~~~<br/>All Rights Reserved.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Blank</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> <strong>[God has spoken.]</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What was this? What was happening?</em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>[Your world will be tested.]</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Where was this voice coming from? God? What does it mean by God?</em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>[Survive. Live. Thrive. So deems your God.]</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Silence. And then screams.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He woke up to darkness.</p><p><strong>Survive. Live. Thrive.</strong> The words kept pounding in his head, inducing echoes of pain that would likely lead to a headache later on. </p><p>He groaned, annoyed at his disrupted sleep. The sheets were soft beneath him and the covers a warmth that pleasantly protected him from the room’s chill. </p><p>He rose up on the bed, yawning lazily as he tried to remember where he was. It was too dark to see anything beyond the dim movements of his own body, so he pushed the covers, feet reaching for the floor. The moment he felt cold marble, lights shone around the room, blinding him. Eyes blinking, he tried to make his surroundings in-between white spots. </p><p>A large bed with heavy green pillows and covers. A windowless room with marble flooring and beige walls. A comfortable sofa, two cozy couches and a small table in their midst. It was a very nice room. Wooden drawers with odd, elegant engravings. Fur carpets in bright greens and dark blues. Silver frame for the mirror. Dark gold for the paintings. </p><p>A really, really nice room. He didn’t recognize any of it.</p><p>Where was he? How did he come here? Why wasn’t he back in… back in--</p><p>Back in where? Where was he before this? </p><p>He came up with a blank. He couldn’t remember. What was he doing yesterday? What was outside this room? What did other people look like? </p><p>Blank. Blank. Blank.</p><p>What did he look like?</p><p>In a panic, he ran toward the tall silver-framed mirror. A young man in his late teens or early twenties greeted him. A man with black skin and long white hair. Someone built lean and athletic, with handsome features. Someone in a well-worn grey nightgown and loose pants. </p><p>He touched his face. Who was this?</p><p>“I…” he started and abruptly stopped. Was that what he sounded like?</p><p>He couldn’t remember. Blank. Blank. Blank.</p><p>He stepped back from the mirror, hating the stranger in its reflection.</p><p>There had to be something he could remember. There had to be.</p><p>His family? His name? His memories? Anything at all?</p><p>He fell to the carpeted floor, defeated.</p><p>Blank. Blank. Blank. No memories. No family. No name. </p><p>There was nothing. Just empty space where his memories should have been.</p><p>He rubbed his temples. The headache returned with a vengeance.</p><p>A semi-transparent screen popped up in front of him. </p><p>Surprised, he stared at the illusory rectangle with writing on it.</p><p>Weird squiggles and lines on a neat font. He didn’t recognize the symbols. He couldn’t read the writing. </p><p>He laughed, self-deprecating. He received a magical alarm, and he couldn’t even read it! Could he read at all?</p><p>A sudden thought came to mind. He could speak! He had spoken before.</p><p>“I can speak,” he slowly annunciated. The motions familiar on his tongue. The sounds foreign to his ears. What language was that? The only reason he even knew what he had said was because he knew what he was about to say.</p><p>“I can speak,” he repeated and the misery returned tenfold. He had no idea what syllables he had pronounced, what accent he had spoken, or even in how many words the form of his intentioned meaning was. He had said sounds. They were meant to make sense. He didn’t know how. </p><p>You weren’t supposed to have this level of disconnection between speaking and thought. He knew that. How did he know that?</p><p>How did he know anything?</p><p>He sat there for a long time trying to understand what was happening to him. No answers came. His headache grew and screens appeared twice more before he decided to explore the outside.</p><p>He opened the heavy, wooden doors, finding them surprisingly light. What greeted him was a large hall. The space alone easily eclipsed his room, with granite walls and stone floors. Tall, majestic columns held an even more majestic ceiling far above him.</p><p>The place was strangely empty; the only furniture being a small throne-like chair, chiseled from grey stone. The bedroom was placed closer to the throne and as he closed the door behind him, he noticed that it faded in the background as if part of the walls.</p><p>A hidden door?</p><p>He sat on the chair, a bit weirded out as it faced opposite the tall metallic gates at the other end. If the spacious hall was majestic, then the gates were plain intimidating. They were easily the most luxurious thing in the room, with bejeweled ornaments and elegant incisions of silver and white gold.</p><p>A small shiver of cold as something hard and metallic formed in his hand. A simple knife with a dark wooden handle had appeared in his hands. He stared at it. So, objects could appear out of thin air too?</p><p>Noises came beyond the hall. He strained his ears to hear them. The sound of heavy steps and intelligible voices rested just beyond the gates.</p><p>He stared at the knife that had appeared with such a coincidental timing.</p><p>Multiple screens popped up in front of him. He ignored them in favor of covering his ears as the sound of screeching metal against stone made way across the hall. The gates were slowly being pushed open to reveal three humanoid figures dressed in leather and metal. </p><p>A new screen popped up before him. With no time to think about why, his breath shattered as he recognized one of the words.</p><p>
  <strong>[... Survive ...]</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. First Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The three humanoids entered the hall. They looked… odd. Their skin was a pale color; not white, but a light peach. The two men had dark hair, cropped short, while the woman had hers long and a dirty straw-like yellow. One of the men, the more slender one, wore a long, coarse, burgundy robe that looked hard to move in, while the other —<em>someone who had probably made some mistake during their bear to humanoid transformation</em>— wore a heavy metallic plate that covered his chest, but had his feet clad in lather and arms bare. He noted with some distaste that the large, stocky man’s arms were covered in untended fur. How come he wasn’t in pain?</p><p>And were those round ears? He touched his own pointy ears in reflection. Why would these strangers have such weirdly shaped ears? The color of their skin and the asymmetry of their faces had made him suspicious but now he was reasonably sure that they were probably a different race than him. Staring at their genetic misfortune, he started to feel a bit better about his own appearance, despite how unfamiliar it was.</p><p>But why were these humanoids here? And why were they so armed? From the bedroom, he had assumed this place was his home but perhaps he was wrong? Perhaps, he was the trespasser? Regardless, these three didn’t seem like the owners of a place such as this.</p><p>The larger of the men stepped forward as he unsheathed his falchion sword and shouted intelligible words at him.</p><p>Not wanting to believe that the screens held some prophetic nature, he left the knife on the arm of the throne-chair and stood up empty-handed. He tried to look as nonthreatening as possible, though with his nightwear on, it was difficult to look anything but.</p><p>“I am unarmed,” he said, though he didn’t think he would be understood. The male humanoid shouted something angry in response, before looking at the other man. The long-robed one spoke something in what seemed a horribly butchered phrase from another language that he still couldn’t recognize.</p><p>Screens popped up on the side, but he ignored them.</p><p>“I can’t speak your language. But I have no weapons. I can’t hurt you,” he waved a little as he felt ridiculous keeping his hands raised so long. The female’s skin turned blotchy with pink under her eyes, such that he wondered whether she had some odd disease. He took a step back but the large man immediately started waving his sword threateningly and shouted indiscriminately at both him and his male companion. The shorter of the two men held on to his stuff tightly before bowing his head and mumbling some gibberish.</p><p>Immediately, he felt a tingling upon his skin before it disappeared as another screen popped up.</p><p>He lowered his hands and stepped back. Did that man just do something? The caster looked ill and pasty as his —<em>spell, enchantment?</em>— words were interrupted. He raised his staff and yelled in a fearful tone before the large men started walking purposefully towards him.</p><p>Seeing where this was going, he raised his hands again. “Wait! Wait, this is a misunderstanding!”</p><p>The large men broke into a sprint, surprisingly fast as he slashed his sword.</p><p>He ducked, evading without really knowing how, before running backwards.</p><p>“Wait!” he shouted. “I am not trying to hurt you!” The man slashed again, forcing him to flip sideways. A screen popped up. He dodged again and jumped away feeling pain on his left arm. The man pursued him, unheeding to his pleas and yelled explanations. He ran and once he gained some distance, he spared a glance at the other two. The woman was hiding behind the slender man as she cheered her companion on, while the other kept his staff on his direction at all times.</p><p>His attention was soon taken. His opponent charged once again, dealing a downward strike to the floor, granite chips and stone dust flying through the air.</p><p>They wanted him dead. The man jeered and thrust.</p><p>They wanted him dead and they didn’t care. He couldn’t remove the image of that woman cheering as her companion vied for his blood.</p><p>Why?</p><p>He had acted polite and passive. He had no weapons and wore only some flimsy sleepwear. That robed man had done something first, and he hadn’t reacted to his weird chant. Looking at the man before him, slashing diagonally, air cutting from the force of the motion, he broke into a run towards the throne.</p><p>He had been so stupid, so naive.</p><p>Why would they trust a foreigner? Why would he trust them but in idiocy as well? Reaching forward, he almost grabbed the dagger, but fire suddenly covered the throne, and he had to jump back. The robed man was chanting, flames appearing from his staff and being thrown in his direction. He couldn’t win against that. Not with a sword-waving maniac after him as well. But just as his hopes dashed, the swordsman yelled at the other a command and the robed man stopped chanting. The woman cheered again.</p><p><em>Ah,</em> he thought, <em>that’s why</em>. Pride. This was all a showmanship of pride. A way to reinforce this man’s arrogance with a weaker opponent and an adoring audience.</p><p>He sidestepped another thrust, surprised at his own speed and flexibility. His opponent was obviously stronger; he could feel the difference in their strength in the air like a sixth sense, but he was faster. However, he was not going to last long if he stayed in defense. Who knew when the audience decided to become involved again?</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye he saw the knife thrown on the floor by the power of the flames, charred black. Trying not to think of the implications of what fighting back meant, he kept dodging, getting more cuts each time and waited. As soon as he saw an opening, he ran for it, but the pale man, out of some instinct or something else, threw his sword at him, with a weird level of accuracy, forcing him to duck out of the way. Distracted by the pain on his ear, he didn’t see the man jump at him bodily, so by the time he tried to scurry forward, he was being dragged by his foot across the floor.</p><p>Panic eclipsed his mind as he desperately tried to free himself from that unflinching grip, hitting with his other foot backwards, trying desperately to hold on to the stone tiles, skin burning and breaking under the friction.</p><p>“Now, now...” the man said condescendingly, and he didn’t even notice that he could understand the words, the popping screens long gone ignored at the sound of his fast-beating heart and the smell of his sweat and fear.</p><p>The man easily dragged him despite his struggle and then his hand moved to his pouch and his captor suddenly had a dagger in his hands and all he could think was:<em> I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to die.</em></p><p>The man made to stab him and out of some unconscious desperation he grabbed the bare blade with his hands, the unforgiving steel cutting through one of his palms, and the pain struck so loud that for a moment he saw white as the larger man laughed. In the background he could hear feminine shouts and grumbled urging and the man laughed more and more and kept stabbing downwards, ignoring his hands and his own relatively insignificant strength, and he didn’t know, he didn’t know when but suddenly, he could hear nothing but the sound of his heart beating in fear. In fear and contempt. Contempt for <em>why, why, why</em>; why couldn’t he live? Why could this man? Why could he? <em>Why could he?</em></p><p>He spit on the man’s face. In surprise and outrage, his killer let go of him, the dagger stabbed back on his palm, pain alighting anew, as the man moved back. All instinct, he rolled to the side and jumped back. The man cursed behind him. “You ----!”</p><p>He ran and grabbed both the man’s sword and his blackened knife, the latter’s still-hot handle burning on his skin. He stood toward his opponent, hands barely holding on to both sword and knife together in one grip, and he went for the attack. Unsurprisingly, the man’s armor and his body’s fortitude easily blocked the sword. The man used his larger figure to bodily push him and grabbed one of his wrists. In the struggle they both fell on the floor, sword meeting the ground with a loud clank.</p><p>He didn’t know if he had planned for this. He didn’t know if he had known how, but all he knew was that the man that wanted to kill him was on top of him, <em>and he was so very afraid, </em>and he stabbed with the knife at the man.</p><p>Silence. Not a scream or a groan of pain. He stood there, eyes wide, as drops of blood dripped down the blade and on his cheek. Suddenly, he could no longer hold the knife, as the man’s weight fell on him fully, all movement ceased.</p><p>The knife’s 8-inch blade had stabbed cleanly through the eye.</p><p>“Rogan!” the robed man shouted and woke him from his stupor.</p><p>He pushed the body —<em> of his murderer, his victim </em>— away and limped toward the throne. The other man, stopped his run and suddenly chanted, sending flames at him, and he barely dodged those, skin singed more than a bit. His throat tightened and his chest felt too small, the fear bouncing inside the walls of his head with the mantra: <em>this one I cannot defeat, I can’t win, I can’t win.</em></p><p>“Tanner, help ---- !” the woman, now beside the body, shouted and the man looked back, and he took the moment and ran. More shouts behind him, he opened the secret door and closed it just before a barrel of flames could burn him. Not knowing how to make sure they couldn’t enter, he couldn’t decide whether to physically push back at the door or try to move the wardrobe to block the possible entrance in enough time for no one to enter. To his utter amazement and later-tearful gratitude, the door melted into the wall to be replaced by smooth unbreakable stone. He fell on the floor, hurt and in pain and so thankful, <em>so very thankful</em>.</p><p>“I’m safe,” he said aloud, as if those words could make him believe it. He couldn’t recognize the word for ‘safe’ on his lips, and he laughed a small, helpless laugh that somehow dimmed the image of blood —<em>blood on his hands, blood on the blade</em>— at the back of his thoughts.</p><p>“I’m safe.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 'Learning'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took some time before his heartbeat slowed down to a normal pace. The shivers had finally left, as had the hysteria. He felt tired and numb but his head was strangely clear as if he had pushed the tension he had felt into a room somewhere in his mind and locked the door. He didn’t think he had gone into shock. He was not paralyzed enough for that. And it worried him. Was he feeling anxious enough? Guilty enough? He had killed someone. Someone who tried to kill him. Not remembering any experience before that morning wasn’t helping with understanding whether what he had done and felt was too little or too much. He had no point of comparison for the person he used to be, for the morals he used to believe. He didn’t know what to think.</p><p></p><div class="chapter-inner chapter-content">
  <p>He stood up, aches making themselves known throughout his body. His fingertips were an ugly red as were his forearms. He had cuts all over his skin and his left ear and forehead had scabbed already. He looked at his right hand. That was probably his worst injury. His palm was cleanly stabbed through, flesh and bone a charred, bleeding mess at the center. He felt like he should be screaming. It hurt. It hurt most horribly. But it was a physical hurt. The pain was there, but distant somehow. As if he was receiving echoes of it, rather than the full sensation.</p>
  <p>Moving past, he looked at his clothes. Somewhat burned, dirty with dust and blood, he felt a well of disgust come upon him. A bit surprised, he touched his cheek and felt the drying blood there. His lips pursed immediately. Disgust. That was the strongest emotion he had felt since the fear had been locked away.</p>
  <p>Trying not think about it, he undressed, barely managing to pull his shirt above his head with only one hand. Naked, he could see that the blood from the cuts had seeped through his clothes, and crusted on his skin. Standing in front of the mirror, he saw himself as he had seen it this morning: unfamiliar. But there was more there now. He noticed more, as he compared himself with… with the humanoids in the hall. His skin, now blemished red, harsh sensitive skin at his burns, his white hair doing little to hide the dirt as it wetly clung to his neck and pointy ears, his eyes wide, bright green gazing back at his bruised face and beaten up body.</p>
  <p>He looked away. He needed to bathe. The urge to get clean like an itch clawing under his skin. As if hearing his thoughts, a door appeared on the wall beside him, and he hurriedly walked toward until he stopped, hand hesitating above the handle.</p>
  <p>Thoughts ran toward the last two humanoids still outside. What if this was…?</p>
  <p>No. He forcefully shook his head and opened the door. Relief to find an empty, marbled room filled with steam overcame him. A pool full of clear water covered most of the white floor, and he made his way to it, slowly disturbing the water’s surface with his hands before pushing himself in.</p>
  <p>His cuts stung but the warmth was too enticing, so lying against the pool wall, he closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.</p>
  <p>A few minutes in, he started to feel drowsy enough to nap, but it likely was light-headedness from the blood loss. Lazily looking at his injured hand, the water certainly not helping, he wondered if the room would provide bandages for him if he asked nicely as well. Like a genie with unlimited wishes.</p>
  <p>But, what was a genie?</p>
  <p>His missing memories never failing to sour his mood, he rose from the pool and thought hard of his need for medical supplies. Nothing seemed to happen but when he turned back, he saw a stool, and a table that were not there before. Grabbing a towel, he mentally thanked the room as he dried himself, before sitting down on the newly provided furniture. On the table, there were about a dozen bottles of various sizes, shapes, and colors. Several rolls of cotton and a soft white material, and what appeared to be delicate cutting tools and scissors were placed beside them.</p>
  <p>Ok, this was good, but he didn’t know what any of these things were. He took the closest bottle. It was long clear bottle with what appeared to be water inside it. He unclasped the cap and smelled it. He recognized the scent to be antiseptic, an alcohol of some kind, although he never had smelled such a scent before. Ignoring the insanity of him remembering nothing but somehow knowing things, he tried to focus, thinking maybe more knowledge would suddenly pop up in his mind.</p>
  <p>Minutes later, as he wondered whether he should try one of the other bottles, two semi-transparent screens popped up in front of him.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p>
    <strong>Skill [---------] has ------- up!</strong>
  </p>
  <ul>
<li>[--------- (Active)] ‒ --. 2 ---: 12.36%</li>
</ul>
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p>
    <strong>Skill [Observation] has ------- up!</strong>
  </p>
  <ul>
<li>[Observation (-------)] ‒ --. 4 ---: 5.18%</li>
</ul>
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
  <p>What the—? How could he understand so much? He had understood a few words before but now, now he could make out numbers and sentence structures. Thinking of how suddenly he had understood some of the humanoids’ words mid-conflict, he started to think on whether there was a mechanism of some sort that granted him knowledge at specific moments. Perhaps, when he reached certain requirements? Thinking of <em>when</em> he started to understand <em>those people</em>’s words, he had spent quite some time in their presence by then. Maybe the ‘learning’ happened after a certain amount of time? <em>Or rather,</em> he realized, <em>after gaining experience.</em></p>
  <p> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p>
    <strong>Skill [-------- Thinking] has ------- up!</strong>
  </p>
  <ul>
<li>[-------- Thinking (-------)] ‒ --. 3 EXP: 1.88%</li>
</ul>
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The new screen was surprising but it confirmed his speculations. Looking back at the other two screens, instead of illegible characters, there was the word “EXP” written there.</p>
  <p>In excitement, he started to think of ways he could facilitate this ‘learning,’ so that he could understand the language faster. How could he gain experience? With more words to familiarize himself, of course!</p>
  <p>He took over the bottles, one by one, and started to carefully look through their labels or any engravings they had. However, once he finished, no new screens popped up, and neither did he find himself understanding any new words. Not allowing himself to dwell on the disappointment, he tried to figure out where he went wrong.</p>
  <p>Seeing the words ‘<strong>Skill [-------- Thinking]</strong>’floating by, maybe he needed to be more proactive in his ‘learning.’ He read over the labels again, but this time he tried to identify separate sentences, punctuation, which words were nouns and which were likely verbs, and after a series of guesses, a new screen did pop up.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p>
    <strong>Skill [Language -----------] has leveled up!</strong>
  </p>
  <ul>
<li>[Language ----------- (Passive)] ‒ LV. 2 EXP: 15.40%</li>
</ul>
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Yes! Yes, he could ‘learn’! This could work! He looked over the bottle in his hand again, and he had never been so happy to see the word ‘Disinfectant’ stare back at him.</p>
  <p>Looking at the blood staining the label though, he ruefully laughed. He needed to clean up before he could explore further. His cuts may have scabbed, but his hands and burns needed better care. He decided to experiment with a smaller cut on his knee first. He poured a few drops of disinfectant on it, and ignoring the sting he tried to clean the surrounding skin as well as he could. Taking some cream from a bottle labeled “Healing -----” he placed a bit over the cut. Feeling stupid as he waited for something to happen, he tried to see if any of the other bottles had something to cool down burning skin. Feeling tingly warmth on his knee, he saw the cut close itself up as the cream disappeared. Touching his now-unblemished skin, the feeling of loss and helplessness that had accompanied him since the moment he woke up without memories started to recede.</p>
  <p>Thinking of this place, his unfamiliar appearance, his inability to understand his own speech, and the fight with three strangers had given him major imposter syndrome and the fear that he was very much like a toy that was being played with.</p>
  <p>But he could <em>learn</em>. He could learn to dodge and fight, he could learn the language, and he could heal himself after some good thinking. He hadn’t felt so in control of his fate since sleep this morning. Looking at the <strong>‘Skill [Language -----------]’ </strong>screen, he strengthened his resolve. First, he would have to fix himself up, and then move on to language.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Hall Of Trials</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>We screwed up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought as he stared at the corpse of his partner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He cursed, once more, out loud as he looked at the shivering woman too scared to touch the body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I told him. I fucking told him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he stared at her scrappy white outfit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bitch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tanner, what are we going to do now?” she asked, like the idiot she was. His still-active </span>
  <b>[Appraisal] </b>
  <span>spelling:</span>
  <b> | Name: Cerise ‒ Class [Healer] ‒ LV. 20 |</b>
  <span> above her head. What was Rogan thinking getting a complete newbie to explore with them? Especially for a new Tower for which they didn’t have a map of the Red Floors? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he gnashed his teeth angrily,</span>
  <em>
    <span> he wasn’t thinking with his head but with his dick. Idiot. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he was dead. Killed by a… an Elven looking creature of some kind. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak</span>
  </em>
  <span> Elven creature. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now where was he going to find a strong patsy with too much brawn for there to be any brains left?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, no. He shouldn’t think about that now. First, he had to get out of here. This place was too outlandish, too unfamiliar. It was almost like… No. He shook his head off those thoughts. It couldn’t be. He was being paranoid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tanner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. Rogan is too dead to listen to your prattle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>First things first. He kneeled on the floor and began to loot the corpse. He had paid quite a bit for some of these armor parts to let them go to waste. It was unfortunate that since Rogan was a fellow human, he couldn’t loot his </span>
  <b>[Inventory]</b>
  <span>, but he pushed the body on the side and ignoring the blood, grabbed the storage bag Rogan kept there. Tying the bag on his belt, he didn’t check how much coin was there, but there should have been quite some left. Rogan only made Orange rank two weeks ago, so he couldn’t have spent it all on women and booze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then looked at the newbie healer, who had gone pallid at his disregard for his partner’s body. Figures. A complete beginner who hadn’t stepped foot in a real Tower before. Thinks she is too good to loot. She would learn one day. But not today. And not with him. This is Rogan’s mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are leaving.” He ordered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what about… him?” and she pointed at the body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is dead. Now get moving. Or you can stay with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She immediately got up at that. “I am coming! I am coming. Don’t leave me here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ha.</span>
  </em>
  <span> So much for liking Rogan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gates were just as intimidating as when they first entered. They looked heavy, all chiseled stone and engraved metal, but he should have enough strength to pull it open. If not, he has a few Strength potions in his </span>
  <b>[Inventory] </b>
  <span>he can use. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got a good hold on it and pulled. Not a squeak of a sound. It didn’t budge. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he grabbed two strength potions from his </span>
  <b>[Inventory]</b>
  <span> and gulped them messily. As soon as he saw the notification confirming the effect of the potions, he steadied his feet on the ground, took hold and pulled again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tanner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No! He tried again and again, with more force with more pull, but nothing. The strength potions should have been enough. He gulped down another potion, although he was going to face some nasty consequences later. His </span>
  <b>[STR]</b>
  <span> stat jumped at the level of a low Orange Rank Warrior. He grabbed the gate’s silver inlays and pulled with everything he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tanner, what are you doing? Why is the gate not opening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t budge. It didn’t budge at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He collapsed on the floor, teeth hurting and hands shivering from what he had forced his muscles through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is the gate not opening?! Tanner!” Cerise screamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Sidmir… Oh, Lord Sidmir… Oh, dear fucking Lord! </span>
  </em>
  <span>What was he thinking following Rogan into an unmapped Floor? What </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Zovya</span>
  </em>
  <span> had he been thinking?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tanner! Answer me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed heavily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see that. Why does it not open? Are you too weak to open it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This bitch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He can’t believe he is going to die with this bitch in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you idiot. I am not </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The gates just won’t open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t they open? You are just a mage! Did you use enough strength potions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her, disbelieving. He had just swallowed down three. Had she not seen him? Anymore and he would overdose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to take one more and vomit all over you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled a face of disgust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why won’t it open? It can’t be locked! We are not locked in here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This ignorant little</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t open. We are not meant to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s insane. How can we not be </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span>—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you that stupid? Haven’t you figured out where we are by now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That irritating frown over her brow made her look uglier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, where are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A secret room suddenly appearing in a random Floor, the large engraved gates, the empty hall with a throne?” her frown began to disappear into horrified realization. “Finally figured it out, huh?” he taunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” she yelled. “You are insane and an idiot! You are just too weak! The doors will open! We just… We just… We don’t have the key! That’s right we need the key!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a gate with no keyhole?” he hoped she didn’t become hysterical. Or maybe, she already had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is not the Hall of Trials! It cannot be the Hall of Trials!” she yelled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He allowed a bit of pity to trickle in. This girl, she just gained a class and got stuck in the Trial Hall of all places. What fucked up luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, Cerise started to breathe deeply, tired of shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are wrong.” she said. “You are wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished he was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sidmir</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how he wished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She went to the gate and tried to pull it open herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A LV. 36 Mage tripping on three medium strength potions couldn’t make it budge. You think you can open it alone, you, a newbie Healer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kept trying despite his words. A few minutes later, minutes of groans and curses on her part, she sat down next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are wrong.” she whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any better theories?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The gates, the throne… those are just rumors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty accurate rumors now that we are seeing it ourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is a Trial. We haven’t seen any Trial.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He motioned at Rogan’s body way on the other side of the hall. “Not only have we seen it, I think we failed it too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that was just some weird black elf!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea what that just was. But, it was no mere elf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it ran away! We injured it! If that was the Trial, it should have stayed and fought till the end!” she insisted, and she was not wrong. But he had had a bad feeling about this since he used </span>
  <b>[Appraisal]</b>
  <span> on that Elven creature. It was nameless, classless and had a very low level, a mere 14. But it had a Title. He had been an Explorer for over five years now. He had never met or seen someone with a Title. He had heard only Floor Guardians and Legendary Heroes had them. Something special by which the Gods recognized someone with power, someone with a </span>
  <b>[Destiny]</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think the Trial was about fighting,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what was it about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had tried to talk. It had raised its hands in surrender. It tried to dodge, not to attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knees-up, his head sagged on his arms. Why had he panicked? Why hadn’t he stopped Rogan? Why had he goaded him on instead?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. It just wasn’t about fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only he knew what the Title meant. If only he had put more effort into his </span>
  <b>[Translation] </b>
  <span>and </span>
  <b>[Language Proficiency]</b>
  <span> skills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the worry, the surprise when he had seen the results of </span>
  <b>[Appraisal]</b>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Title had been in Divine script. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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